


my heavenly salvation

by jemmasimmns (laurellance)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurellance/pseuds/jemmasimmns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stars had always echoed above her; a symbol of hope she carried as a reminder.</p><p>He had always hated them; the stars. He laughs bitterly describing the sky, the view that he’d see from his prison cell. </p><p>Murphy, Emori, and as Murphy dubbed it ‘whatever the fuck we were.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heavenly salvation

i.

Family was one of the unspoken things they never discussed. They never talked about why Emori never talked about her family, how she never talked about the scars she bore. Murphy never questions how she takes control over everything, how or why she knew how to do often unusual things. He never questions how she protects him at every turn, how she insists on focussing on the ‘survival’ work. 

He never questions it, because he doesn’t know anything, and what little he knows is deemed ‘worthless.’ Because he likes to pretend that he hasn’t completely broken off from his family, that he doesn’t feel nothing but anger to them.

 

ii.

Insomnia was their best friend; and maybe then, they are honest to each other. More comfortable, because it’s during these hours that no one is watching. It’s a brief calm before the storm, before reality sets in, where their demons can be relieved, lessened.

She traces constellations on his body: over the scars, the mangled tissue, the few spots of clean skin. She whispers grounder, almost like a song, a prayer, and Murphy relaxes his eyes enough for his body to unclench. Her finger passes through the scars, the bloody and distorted flesh, the uneven ridges that cover his body in so many aspects. 

He doesn’t know what she’s saying, and she never asks why he lets her.

 

iii.

There are so many ways to say _I Love You_ , and sometimes Murphy whispers them while she traces the stars onto his back. The reassurance that they were both screwed, the father who died in vain, the friend who stayed by him. Sometimes it hit’s him that he’s not even eighteen yet, but the scars around his neck tell a different story. 

She whispers echoes of myth, of the myth of the grounder folk. The tales, the basis, and he listens. It’s a desperate attempt to relieve their sins, and they are each other’s church. They are the confessor to the other, in slow steamy kisses, in the quick whispers the other catches before restless sleep. 

 

There are so many ways to say I Love You, but no one tells them how to say Goodbye. 

 

iv.

One day, Murphy tells her that he doesn’t hate them. He doesn’t blame them, not by a long shot, because he hates where he came from even more. He whispers he wants them all dead, rotting bodies in the burnt remains of Camp Jaha. Charcoal remains of skeletons, half caved in heads as he walks through. 

They deserve to burn, he says, and he whispers so many things that he wants, because he knows that they’ll never come true, but she is his church, his priest, and he whispers another sin:

That he doesn’t want her to leave, because everyone he loves leaves him, and he wants something to save him from the demons that torment him daily.

She whispers to him that she won’t judge, that she will stay, and it is yet another way to say I Love You, because he’s been the first thing that she’s ever had to call her own.

 

v.

She shows him the stars one day, and Murphy watches with blank eyes. Because he hates the stars, and yet they’ve guided him for so long, but he says nothing as Emori talks. 

She’s used the stars as a guide, and Murphy wants to break into hysterics, because if they were her freedom, they were his prison, and he still can’t escape his past.

He settles for leaning onto her, and the slightest tear falls out anyway. 

 

vi.

He watches as she works: it’s fast, effective, and full of millions of shortcuts. She ducks too fast, walks quicker than she should, but she smiles at him as if he is the sun and she is his moon. 

He isn’t worthy of this adoration, but she continues to come back to him, and he wonders _why_.

 

vii.

 

When they take him, she doesn’t know what to do. She’s shied away from Polis for years now, and she knows better than everyone what they would do to her. Exile had been a blessing; but is he worth breaking exile for?

She never answers the question, because she walks away from their settlements, a new determination to find her brother. If she cannot have her sky-boy, then she would live- no matter, she would find another companion. 

(She keeps on traveling, and doesn’t stop. Because where is her god now? With the devils, being broken for a crime she had conceived.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I like this piece, despite how short it is. 
> 
> anyway! My tumblr is barnsebucky if you want to say hi.


End file.
